A Matter of Trust
by Frisky Wallabee
Summary: [ON HIATUS]AU. Rated for language and eventual slash. David had lived on the same block with the same boys since he was born and he had never once hung out with them
1. Chapter 1

David had lived on the same block with the same boys since he was born and he had never once hung out with them. No, that was a lie. When he was a baby—barely more than an extension to his mother—the mothers on the street thought that since it was '_Oh, so cute, we all have boys_' that they should have a playgroup. It basically consisted of them all writhing on a blanket. David had gone to them until he was three and Jack hit him rather rudely over the head with an action figure. His mother, who would put him in a hermetically sealed bubble if she could, pulled him away and told his mother to keep her crazy demon child (her words, not his) to herself.

He had never been back. Now he was sixteen, still lived on the same block with the same boys, and rarely spoke to any of them. They were this clique, all with these stupid nickames while David was just David. David the outsider. David whose overprotective mother couldn't handle her precious baby being hit over the head with a Michelangelo toy thirteen years ago. He walked through the tunnel that led under the highway and connected their neighborhood with the school with them and occasionally walked down the same sidewalk with one of them. But they never spoke. He couldn't even keep all of their dumb nicknames straight—not that he cared of course.

Today, though, it seemed as though David would have to talk them. There was a chain link fence separating the cement patio of the bike rack that was at the mouth of the tunnel from the grass of the school's lawn. Apparently, someone had locked both gates and sequestered the students behind the fence.

"What the hell?" Racetrack—why did they call him that? Did he like NASCAR or something?—took in the fence. "Idiots."

David kept his head down, not wanting to be seen. He didn't want to make himself out to them as the unathletic boob that he was so he sat at the foot of the fence to await for the arrival of the janitor to unlock it. The girls in the neighborhood had all gone to their cars in the front of the school. Apparently, the boys on his block were the only ones who had to walk like David did.

He saw the rest coming. That idiot Jack—or the turtle hitter as he was affectionately referred to in his household—was moving back and forth quickly while explaining something to some others. He kept gesturing to a black eye and laughing. David caught words like 'cops' and 'chasing' and 'window' and it just confirmed his suspicions that Jack was an imbecile.

"Hey, Cowboy!" Racetrack yelled back to him. "What the fuck?"

Jack bounded over to him, tossed his backpack clean over before throwing himself against the fence. David happened to be leaning against it and felt his body pitch forward with the sudden addition of Jack's weight and the resulting quake. He tumbled onto the grass and turned to see Jack land nimbly on his feet before tumbling back a few steps and falling on his rear and the heels of his hands. The others let out peals of laughter.

Before David could regain his composure, the others all jumped on the fence and started climbing over. Some, like the Spot the creepy boy who lived next door to him, jumped over like the fence was a vaulting horse. Others, like Racetrack, took their time. One boy, who lived on the other side of David and the extent of what he knew about him was that he was called Skittery and had a creepy fascination with _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ fell right on his butt, legs splayed in front of him.

"Nice," a boy David knew to be called Snitch congratulated him sardonically.

Skittery, who had been smoking when he had tried to jump, just spat out his cigarette along with a stream of smoke.

"Aren't you going to climb?"

David looked around to see that all of his neighbors were already over the fence.

"You, Danny."

David turned to see Mush Meyers—a boy from his chemistry class—pointing at him.

"David," he corrected, mentally noting that that was the first word he had spoken to Mush since they were three.

"Whatever. Aren't you going to climb?" he quirked a brow.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Mush, leave him alone," Spot commanded. "He's too good to associate with us."

David ignored him and went back to waiting for someone to unlock the gate. The fence was shaken by another quake and David found himself staring at a pair of size thirteen Doc Martens. Slowly, he let his gaze travel up to see Jack's grinning face, one eye surrounded by that awful bruise.

"Come on, Davey," he said jovially. "I'll help ya over."

He hated when people called him Davey. He especially hated when they grabbed his stuff. Just as Jack did when he lifted his backpack and flung it over the fence.

"Hey!" he blurted. "What was that for?"

"I said I'll help ya over if ya can't do it on your own," he replied indignantly.

Jack laced his fingers and held his hands out with the palms up. He was expecting David to step into them.

"You know, I think I'll just…"

Apparently, Jack's "help" was beyond solely involving him stepping into his hands. He reached forward and grasped David around the waist before all but tossing him over.

"Damn, you're skinny," he remarked as he watched him cling for his life to the chain.

Now he had no choice. Step by step, he carefully dropped to the ground, landing on his feet…before falling backwards. Jack vaulted over the fence once more and stuck his hand out to help him.

"Leave me alone," he snapped, snatching up his backpack and starting to storm away.

Great, now he had to walk with them. This time, though, luck was on his side. The second they emerged from the tunnel, the boys piled into two cars instead of trekking the two miles to their street. David was left, thankfully, alone.

After Jack's little attempt to help, he half-expected him to offer him a ride. Fortunately, he did not so David got to walk two miles in the hot sun past all of the other houses by himself.

And he was just fine with that.

--

Skittery lit a fresh cigarette on the car's lighter and blew noxious air into the car.

"Hey," Jack screwed his face up. "I quit, douche bag, so if you smoke, direct all cancer air out the window."

Skittery turned the crank to lower the window, the metal rod sticking in some places. He leaned back in the cracked leather seat as Jack pulled into his driveway. Spot leaned forward.

"So, Kelly," he smirked at Jack. "What's this big epiphany you had at the party last night?"

"Like he remembers anything," Skittery laughed. "Seriously. He was drunk off his _ass_!"

Jack held his hand up. "I remember some things. I mean, I can't describe them but I remember them. I remember you carrying me, Skits. And I remember jumping into Snitch's pool and then being really freezing and rolling on the ground. And then I remember being on all fours and puking into a bush. Then I remember waking up and being all 'whoo! Let's party!'"

Spot and Skittery laughed. Spot leaned back and kicked the fourth person in the car.

"Narcolepsy boy, up!" he proclaimed. "We're here."

Blink gave them all the finger but rose and stretched anyway.

"I was fucking exhausted," he remarked, ruffling his blonde hair. "Fucking Larkson was all over my fucking ass today because I didn't fucking have my monologue memorized. So I was all 'It's hard to memorize a monologue when you only have one fucking eye!' and then she wrote me up for language."

Blink was the foulest mouthed boy of their group, peppering his words with 'fuck' and 'shit' wherever applicable. It really counteracted with his usually sunny demeanor.

"Everyone get out of my car," Jack announced.

The three other boys who traveled with Jack in his tiny Rabbit (which had been his father's) got out and met with the others who were leaning against Mush's much more stylish purple Corvette (also his father's).

"So Jack," Race started. "What's the big secret?"

Skittery nodded in agreement to the curiosity and plopped on the ground, still smoking. Jack looked at the cigarette and really wanted one. Were his friends even ready for it?

"Guys," he took a deep breath. "I'm gay."

Much to his surprise, Race stuck both fists in the air. "Spot, you ass! You owe me ten bucks!"

Jack tore his gaze from Skittery's cigarette and cocked a brow. "You two were betting on my sexuality? And how did you even know?"

Spot shrugged. "I thought all the tongue action with guys at parties was for show. Race said it made you gay or bi or whatever. He won."

"…I made out with guys at parties?"

They dissolved into laughter. Jack gave them the finger.

"No thanks!" they shouted in unison.

Spot was a creepy kid, brewing who knows what in his basement, but there were times, like this, where he was a normal kid.

"Anyone else have any sexual epiphanies or can we get to the keg?" Blink asked ruefully.

"Keg? No keg today," Snitch said sourly. "Brother took it back to college. So we just have to loiter here like the delinquents we are."

"Shit, fucking Larkson had me craving some fucking booze today," he pouted.

"Wah, wah," Snitch waggled his tongue at him. "Go cry to your mommy, Blinky."

He shoved him but a smile had broken through.

"Oh hey," Snitch suddenly snapped his fingers. "Chocolate Herpes broke up."

"I thought they had already broken up when Nathan left," Spot held his hand out for a cigarette.

"No, they just got a new drummer. Well, John and Corey got super pissed at each other."

"Why?"

"Because John's a poseur," Snitch explained. "Or so Corey says. So they were going to fight after school and Nathan was gonna sell tickets but then their girlfriends broke it up."

Spot lit the cigarette and plopped next to Skittery on the ground.

"How do you know that?" Mush asked, leaning back on the hood of his car and letting his t-shirt ride up so his abs could enjoy the afternoon sun.

"Because I was _there_. Duh!"

Skittery stamped out his cigarette. "Their music sucked anyway. Corey is all trying to bring back a punk scene. Whoever thinks that they can bring a punk scene to St. Cloud is a moron."

"I think the only reason people liked them," Jack intoned. "Was because their name was pretty kicking."

Snitch stuck his hand in the air. "All me! All me! They asked me frosh year what their name should be."

"Are you their groupie?" Spot sneered.

"No, Jack is," he shoved him.

Jack glared. "I should have never told you guys I was gay."

"We all knew," Blink pointed out. "We were just waiting for the fucking announcement. I mean, seriously, how fucking many of us are closeted?"

Snitch shoved him. "Speak for yourself, _Louie_."

"So what if I fucking am? I am a fucking drama dork, aren't I?"

Mush cracked an eye open. "You're gay?"

He shrugged. "I just said 'so what if I fucking am?'. Imply what you fucking wish."

Blink smiled conspiratorially and joined Spot and Skittery on the ground just as David Jacobs walked by.

"Hey," Mush, always the polite one, decided to try and start a conversation. "Did you get the ionic compound notes? I was at the nurse's office."

David kept his head down and even quickened his step.

"Or…not," Mush fell back down on the hood.

"He's so weird," Spot remarked.

"Coming from you?" Skittery laughed.

"Shut up, Buffyphile," he snapped. "I'm not that weird."

"You're building fucking weapons of mass destruction in your fucking basement," Blink stated. "Chemical fucking warfare."

"Hey!" Mush sat up. "Can you help me with my chem homework?"

Spot waved his hand and shrugged. "They're not weapons of mass destruction. They're chemicals and science stuff. You know, Blink, things _you_ wouldn't understand."

Blink shrugged and shoved him. Spot, being as light as he was, tumbled into the grass, his cigarette going with him.

"I'm a drama nerd. I don't need no fucking science."

"You know," Jack mused. "That would have been a good variation of a _Blazing Saddles _quote if you didn't have to Blink-ize it."

"Speaking of which," Race suddenly snapped his fingers. "I found _Johnny Dangerously _in the five buck bin at Wal-Mart. I was all 'hell yeah!' when I found it."

"I _love_ that bin," Skittery enthused. "I found the first two episodes of _Buffy_ in there once."

"I fell in there once," Snitch remarked. "Not fun times."

Blink and Skittery cracked up.

"How did you fucking fall in there?"

"I was reaching for _Frogs_, right? And I lost my balance and…_Point Break _stabbed me! That movie has sharp corners! So yeah, I fell in and then had to crawl out and be all 'I didn't fall in.' All cool-like."

Race joined Blink, Spot and Skittery in the grass, leaving Snitch and Jack as the only ones standing.

"Aren't you banned from Wal-Mart?" he cocked an eyebrow.

"This was before I got banned. Besides, my banning was so unfair."

"I love that your continuous theft didn't get you banned but trying to get the cranes to work did," Mush stated from the hood.

Snitch tossed him a dirty look. "Those cranes were _rigged_. I was doing the citizens of St. Cloud a _favor_ and _that's_ how they repay me."

"You're an idiot," Jack said, plopping onto the ground. Inwardly, he was cheering. His friends understood. How could they not? They had a lifetime of friendship under their belts. If Jack sprouted another head that decided that it wanted to be Spiderman, they'd understand.

--

David sat at the dinner table, kicking his legs and trying to solve a particularly difficult calculus problem. He wanted to shoot the guidance counselor who thought that it was okay that he, a sophomore, could take a class like advanced calculus. Usually, he was fine with it. Math geek he was, he loved trigonometry and geometry—right triangles were pure joy—and algebra. The joy of plugging in the right number into a set-in-stone formula was immeasurable. That was why he hated getting stuck on problems.

And the incessant noise from Skittery's house next door was doing him no favors.

"Fucking fuckity fuck!" someone yelled. "Mush, you fucking _ass_!"

David sighed and closed his book, admitting defeat. No, not defeat. A temporary surrender until the imbeciles next door finally quieted their noise-holes.

Idly, he went to the window and split the blinds ever so slightly. Just out of curiosity, to see what all the noise was about.

Jack was running with Spot's three dogs. Each was the size of a small horse. A stupid idea to have three of them because the lawns in their neighborhood were postage stamps at best. His father often said that the Conlons didn't have dogs, they had cattle. Spot himself was smoking illegally on the grass with that boy Skittery who was also illegally smoking. They were seated near a boom box that was belting out annoyingly campy old rap music. So far, David had heard 'Push It' and 'Baby Got Back'. It was now currently blaring 'Ice Ice Baby' while Snitch pretended to be Vanilla Ice.

The blonde kid who got all of the leads in the school plays (and always, in David's opinion, looked like someone's evil twin from a soap opera with that eye patch) was chasing around Mush who had apparently wronged him in some way.

"David?" with a start, he turned to see his little brother Les coming down the stairs. "Sarah wants to know what the noise is."

"It's the boys outside," he explained.

"She's trying to sleep," Les continued. "She said for you to make them quiet. She's crying."

Les's eyes got really large with worry. David nodded but kicked himself inside. Great, now he had to tell them to keep it down. And that may have to include explaining about his sister.

"Alright," he said. "Be back in a few."

Sighing, he slipped out the door and plodded next door. 'Ice Ice Baby' had morphed into, for some reason, 'Hakuna Matata' and Race and Spot were singing loudly to it.

David had to stand at the edge of Skittery's lawn with his arms crossed over his chest for a good minute or so before anyone acknowledged his presence.

Jack stopped frolicking with the horses and signaled for Skittery to turn off the music.

"What can I do ya for?" he smirked.

David couldn't meet his black-eyed gazed so he stared down at Jack's now bare, rather large feet.

"Um…could you guys keep it down? My sister's trying to sleep," he mumbled.

"Isn't your sister, like, eighteen?" Spot sneered.

Great, couldn't they have assumed she was a little baby that needed eighteen hours a day?

"Yeah but…she's tired," he shrugged. "She had a long day."

There. It was a lie but it worked.

"Alright, but tell me…what's so fascinating about my feet?" Jack laughed. "You've been staring at them like they're going to impart the divine mysteries of the ancient world."

David snapped his head up. Alright, maybe Jack wasn't _that _big of an idiot.

"We'll keep it down," Skittery stated. "But riddle me this, Batman. How come you stay inside all day?"

"I have to work," David turned and started to go, wanting desperately to get back to his calculus homework.

"Join us," Mush exclaimed, giving blondie—it was Blink or Patchy or something—ample opportunity to tackle him and start pounding him lightly.

"Yeah," Jack stated.

David shook his head, disgusted at the thought. "No thanks. Mom's not home. Uh…later."

He rushed back inside. As he sat back at the table and opened his book, he was surprised to find that they were true to their word. The music didn't start back up and there was no more yelling.

Maybe there was more to them than he had thought. David shook his head and picked up his pencil. Yeah, right.

--

**A/N: **So, what do you all think? Should I continue it or no? Oh, and for the record, St. Cloud is a real place. It's the town right by my town (at least, before I move). Also, there _is_ a tunnel connecting my neighborhood to the school. And Chocolate Herpes is actually a band but I changed the members' names for privacy purposes. That aside, yeah. Review and all that. Tell me if I should build on this.


	2. Chapter 2

Lunch was always a big thing with Jack and his friends. They had sat in the same corner by the same two poles in the courtyard since freshmen year. It was always yelling and occasionally singing and dancing. Sometimes, for no reason in particular, Snitch would randomly launch himself at someone screaming 'Oh my God, we're gonna crash!' and pushing his hands all over their eyes. Apparently, it was from some cop comedy movie he had seen but couldn't remember the title of. However, he did intimate that Christian Slater had starred in it. Skittery had immediately put the movie down because he, for some reason, had a vendetta against the actor.

"Today is unusually quiet," Race remarked. "For us."

Spot and Jack were sitting next to each other and listening to Spot's iPod, each having an ear bud. That left them silent while Blink was stewing about his detention that afternoon.

"Someone better fucking wait for me because it's going to fucking rain today," he pointed to the bloated sky above their heads. "And I don't want to fucking walk home in the fucking rain."

"I have…a thing," Snitch lied. "That I have to do."

"And I'm due in a chatroom tonight," Skittery put in. "At three. We're debating the need for Riley."

Jack took the bud out of his ear. "And I'm not even going to _make_ an excuse. I just don't care."

Blink gave him the finger. Spot nodded his agreement with Jack and Mush was fast asleep. Besides, he was never allowed to stay after school for anything because of his overprotective mother. It was a miracle that he could hang out with them at all.

"I'll wait for you," Race piped up. "Since none of these douches will."

Blink smiled at him before sticking his tongue out at all of the others.

"You know you all fucking suck, right?" he grumped. "And Larkson needs to fucking suck it. Because she fucking _knows_ I'm a better fucking actor than her and she's fucking _frustrated_ because she's stuck as a fucking high school teacher!"

Mush held up his fingers without even sitting up. "Six, Blink. Six times in one sentence. I think you have tourettes."

"And I think you need to shut your fucking mouth," he kicked him.

"Ah," Snitch remarked. "What a united group we are."

Jack and Spot were off in their own little musical world.

"Let's get some shoes," they talk-sang. "Let's get some shoes…"

"They are idiots," Skittery stated. "Oh! Guess what!"

"Nicholas Brendon finally gave you a restraining order?" Race queried.

He rolled his eyes. "No. Tonight is stay night."

From when they were seven, they realized that having all of them sleep over at one house would prove catastrophic. So they all slept over at different houses and then met up in the morning at Spot's house.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Really?"

Skittery shoved him. Jack shoved him back, causing the ear bud to fall from his ear. Spot picked it up and placed it back in his own as Jack and Skittery pretended to have a dramatic fight. Snitch provided the dramatic fight music.

"Dunuh. Dunnuh! Dunnuh! Dunununudunnuh!"

"Catfight!" Mush yelled without getting up.

Spot rolled his eyes and turned up his iPod. The two, however, jumped immediately apart when an administrator walked by. Snitch's fight music suddenly turned into the Mario theme due to this particular administrator's resemblance to the pixilated plumber. Blink elbowed him slightly and the two dissolved into laughter.

The second he passed, Skittery shoved Jack.

"You were so trying to make out with me," he announced.

Race rolled his eyes. They were all idiots.

"Oh, yeah," Jack put a hand over his heart. "Because now that I'm out, I want to whore it up with a boy who I've taken baths with."

"I'm all over that shit!" Snitch exclaimed exuberantly and jumped on Jack, thrusting his pelvis back and forth in short intervals.

Jack shoved him off of him and they burst into laughter. Some of the kids from the "emo" table glanced their way. They were used to it. The kids at their school treated them like they were from another planet and maybe they were.

"So arrangements?" Skittery pulled out his Buffy notebook and opened it to a fresh page.

Blink rolled his good eye. "Skits, must you fucking write every fucking arrangement? Are you that fucking anal? Who the fuck are you? Howard fucking Hughes?"

Skittery ignored him. Race shook his head at Blink. He knew that they had to do this just in case, by accident, someone ended up at Jack's house or Spot's.

"I'll sleep over at Blink's," he volunteered. "Since I'm waiting for him and everything."

"Me too," Jack shrugged.

"I'll go to Mush's," Spot added since Mrs. Meyers didn't allow her precious little son to stay over at anyone else's house.

"Then I guess it's just you and me," Skittery scribbled down his and Snitch's names on his notebook. "And we're meeting at the ranch?"

Spot shoved him. "I do not live on a ranch."

"You have horses don't you?"

Spot, despite the fact that he was a sixteen-year-old boy, managed to look like the epitome of feminine disgust right then.

"Well you _do_," Snitch added with a snort of laughter. "And we call _Jack_ Cowboy. Jesus…"

"Spot, didn't you ride Baron around your yard at that last party? The tequila shots one," Race put in.

Spot put his iPod away, glaring at him but his gaze wasn't fixed as though he didn't know who should take more offense: him or his dog.

Mush got up then and stretched. He arched his back and let his pink tongue slide out toe glaze his lips.

"You weren't even sleeping," Snitch observed.

"Yeah but laying there made me…I got nothing," he laughed. "So Spot's coming over to my house? Radical."

Everyone gave him an incredulous look.

"What?"

It was Jack who spoke up. "Radical, Mush?"

"I'm trying out 80s lingo. You know, tubular, radical, bodacious…"

"So shall I refer to thee as Bill S. Preston esq. or Ted Theodore Logan?" Snitch cocked a brow.

Mush shoved him playfully. "Mush is fine."

The bell rang to signal the end of lunch and they all rose.

"Oh," Jack snapped his fingers as he was hit with, Race assumed, a formerly forgotten thought. "I have a new fifth period. I got moved to Advanced U.S. History, bitches."

Blink scooped up his backpack. "Does that mean you have a different lunch now?"

The fact that he had managed to say a complete sentence without the use of any expletives amazed them all undoubtedly.

"Would I be here if I did?" Jack rolled his eyes.

"Yes," Spot smirked before walking off.

--

David was aware of two things the moment he stepped into History class: one, someone was sitting in his designated seat and, two, that person happened to be Jack Kelly. He hovered awkwardly before him, fingering his backpack strap nervously. There were times, much like this, when David wish that he could be the assertive boy. When he could just look at the shiner-plagued boy in his seat and be like 'Hey, move!' Unfortunately, David was unable to become the active protagonist in the novel of his life and, thus, had to settle for standing over him and tapping his foot a little.

"Yes?" Jack flashed this indolent smile at him that drove him up the wall.

"You're in my seat," he said plaintively, it coming out more quiet and less assertive than he had planned.

"Is your name on it?"

David managed to toss that one back at him. "Yes. On the sheet. Over there. Please move."

Much to his surprise, Jack actually looked moderately impressed. He stood and gave a little bow.

"Then I humbly surrender this seat to you and will find somewhere else to fulfill my seating needs."

No sooner had David reclaimed his seat that he noticed that that 'somewhere else' happened to be the seat directly behind him and, unfortunately, the student who had sat there before had long since vacated it and moved back to Puerto Rico. David cursed himself for having Junior classes.

The bell rang to signal the beginning of class and Mr. Richards got immediately to business. Namely, their Revolutionary War projects.

"I want partners on this," Richards happened to be one of the football coaches as well and was big on teamwork. "Work together for your person and I want to see stellar performances."

Alexia Hardiway raised her hand. "Do we get to pick our partners?"

"No, alphabetical order. Adams, you're with Bailey…"

Richards proceeded to read off the names until he got to David's.

"Jacobs, you're with new boy. Kelly."

He didn't dare turn around to face him. He had managed to avoid those boys for the past thirteen years. Now, in less than two days, he had had more interaction with them than he cared to.

Much to dismay, Richards decided to let them have the rest of the period to plan with their partners which historical figure they wanted to do a presentation on. David foresaw many reports on George Washington.

"So, Dave," Jack's voice came from behind him. "Who do you wanna do? I was thinking Banastre Carlton. He was pretty hardcore. You know, that's Snitch's real name. He hates it."

David didn't care to remember which one was Snitch—the blonde one or the one who tattled on everyone in grammar school?—nor that his name happened to correspond with the British butcher.

"I think we should veer towards the Patriot side," he mumbled, actually turning to face him.

"Tom Brady, then?"

David didn't get it. Jack shook his head.

"Never mind. What about…" he shrugged. "That one guy on the ship. The 'I have not yet begun to fight' guy."

He felt that it was useless to continue much of a conversation in this vein so David just shrugged.

"Sure."

--

David's last class of the day was chemistry. That meant that he had to pass through another one of his neighbors who now, after thirteen years of solid silent indifference, had taken it upon themselves to talk to him.

"Hey," Mush greeted him. "Ready for today's quiz? I so love this ionic bond stuff. So easy. I just have to memorize the polyatomics. Hydroxide is the OH with the negative sign, right?"

He made a little sideways dash with his index finger to indicate the sign. David just looked at him, noting that this was the most conversation that he had never had with Mush. If it could even be _called_ conversation. He slid into his seat and shrugged.

"Yeah," he answered.

Thankfully, Mush sat on the other side of the room but the classroom was mostly empty. David decided to broach the subject.

"Why are you guys talking to me all of a sudden?"

"Because you're a creepy shut-in and we want to take you under our wings," he said in such an earnest tone that David couldn't tell whether or not he was joking.

He didn't care, though, enough to ask him that. They had a good three minutes before the bell rang and David did his best to ignore him. But Mush decided that that wasn't good enough and, as more kids filed in, that he needed to _talk_ to David.

"How come you never hang with us? We don't bite, really. Just Spot but he's weird anyway. And he doesn't _really_ bite. He just puts his mouth on your arm like a puppy or something," he laughed. "It's hilarious."

David pretended to study his notes but he didn't need to. Mush had been right. The "ionic bonds stuff" was incredibly simple. He even already _had_ the polyatomics memorized. Just _anything_ to avoid listening to him.

It was bothering him more than he let on. _Why_ were they all talking to him all of a sudden?

--

For Snitch, Skittery, and Spot last period Spanish class was possibly the best time of the day. That time was sweetened because of their "culture presentations" they were doing all week. The teacher had purposely scheduled it so each day, someone who brought food would go.

Currently, they were noshing on animal crackers the teacher had brought to keep them quiet during a rather reggaeton-heavy presentation about Puerto Rico. The two kids presenting were part of the many of Hispanic students (most hailing, in fact, from Puerto Rico) at their little Florida school who Blink simply referred to, as a whole, as the Sharks. Whether or not they took offense to the name—or if they understood the reference at all—was unbeknownst to any of them. Nor did they really care.

"Spot," Skittery remarked. "That's sick."

Spot was biting the heads off of his animal cracks and dropping the decapitated corpses onto his napkin. He grinned at Skittery.

"This is more fun than just trying to decide what they are," he stated. "I mean, what is this?"

He held up a blobby thing that could have been a rhino or a sheep.

"I don't know," Skittery admitted. "I've also never seen monkeys _or_ rabbits in a box of animal crackers."

Snitch wasn't paying attention for he was too busy having two zebras make whoopee on his napkin. In fact, Ms. Martinez—the boys noted—was realizing that none of the students eating their animal crackers were actually paying attention to the presentation.

"What can she expect?" Spot said sassily. "It's a Friday."

Snitch ceased his animal sex and nodded. "Yeah. Duh. Besides, who cares about the coqui? It's a frog. Big deal."

"Your compassion for endangered species floors me," Skittery deadpanned.

"Hey, I care about manatees and the Everglades and all of that destroying nature stuff," Snitch got huffy. "I just don't care about some frog that can't even survive off of Puerto Rico."

To further accentuate his point, Snitch pulled down the collar of his shirt—as he always did in these cases—to show them the World Wildlife Federation logo tattoo right below his collarbone. Skittery and Spot rolled their eyes at each other. There was always talk going around that Snitch's mother didn't keep tight enough reins on him.

"Banastre," Ms. Martinez glared at him. "_Silencio_."

"_Sí_," he grumbled.

She smiled apologetically at Jorge and Clarissa before urging them to continue. It was interrupted, yet again, by the sudden vibration of Skittery's cell phone. Usually, cell phones weren't allowed in class but after a protest last year—in which the boys had taken a part in—they were allowed to be used albeit not when the teacher was talking. It wasn't a half-bad arrangement.

In this situation, however, the other half would come into play.

"What?" he snapped. "I have to work tonight? Damnit!"

By this time, Jorge and Clarissa had given up and said 'fin' before sitting back down. Ms. Martinez just shook her head at her delinquent students, muttering '_a Dios mio' _under her breath.

--

"Fucking all fucking fuckity hell," Blink complained, letting his damp cigarette fall to the ground.

Race shook his head at him but was hating the rain just as much.

"I'm freezing and cold and wet as well," he pointed out. "And I'm not firing off a slew of obscenities."

Blink gave him the finger and they continued on their trek home or, rather, to Blink's home. They walked in silence for a while, the only sound being the ever worsening rain that was soaking them both.

Race frowned at him. Blink had been in an increasingly bad mood since he had gotten the detention. Actually, he had worsened after Jack's announcement yesterday and his own hinting that he and Jack were more similar than first thought. Race was used to him saying 'this is fucking great!' instead of 'this fucking sucks!'

In other words: Blink was in need of some serious cheering up.

Race, his feet squelching within the confines of his sneakers, jumped forward and spun towards him.

"What the fuck are you fucking doing?" Blink cocked a brow.

Race jumped backwards in the rain and started to dance. His sopping backpack banged against his back as he spun around, flapping his arms.

"We'll dance in the garden in torn sheets in the rain," he sang loudly, his voice almost getting lost in the pounding rain. "We'll dance in the garden in torn sheets in the rain…_in the raaaaaiiiin_! We're the deadbeat club…"

Blink started laughing and pushed his soaked hair from his forehead. "You're fucking nuts, Higgins. You know that?"

He ceased his dancing and shrugged. A smile was tugging on the edges of Blink's mouth. Apparently, they were getting somewhere.

They fell back in sync and continued past the fancier houses of the first neighborhood.

"You know," Race mused. "We're kind of like the deadbeat club. We don't have jobs, we get drunk a lot…"

Blink nodded. "Yeah, I could see that."

"Is Jack going to already be there, waiting inside all warm like a prick?" he wondered aloud. "Laughing at us and being all 'oops, forgot you needed a ride'?"

"Probably, knowing Jack," Blink shrugged. "Fucking prick. I should've never given him a fucking key."

"Ah, but what fairness would that be? We all have keys to your house and all that. Which, if one of us turns out to be an insane serial killer…he'll have easy access."

They laughed and continued down the road. Race went to say something—more in the vein that Spot would be the one most likely to _become_ an insane serial killer—when he slipped and crashed into Blink. He didn't fall but instead, caught him by the arms and eased him back up.

"Easy," he smiled. "You'll get fucking pulled over."

Race cocked a brow but pulled himself up, noticing goosebumps studding his arms and a chill from the rain he hadn't noticed before. From the rain…right? It had nothing to do with how solid, albeit soaked and pruny, Blink's hands had been when he caught him.

"So anyway," he continued. "I'm betting that Spot's the one who's an insane serial killer."

"No fucking way. He's way too obvious! It's gonna be fucking Jack!"

--

David could tell that Jack hated inviting people over. He hadn't _wanted_ to come over but Jack had said it was because they needed to work on their presentation.

"Your house is a lot like mine," he observed. "Except one story…"

Jack shrugged and gave a sideways glance to the living room. David had been obstinate to go over to Jack's. But, of course, he'd rather go there if he was forced to spend time outside of school from him rather than at his own home.

"So, uh," he paused. "I should warn you about my—"

"Jack, that you?" a voice from the living room called. "_Three's Company_ is starting."

"Yeah, dad," he returned. "But we have to do a project."

"We?"

Jack forced a smile at him. "Wanna meet my dad?"

Jack walked with his shoulders drooped and shuffling his feet as they made his way towards his father.

"Dad, this is David. He lives up the street," he said quickly. "You know his parents."

David saw a man slumped in a recliner in front of TVLand. He actually looked a lot like Jack: they had the same features. Except his father had darker circles around the eyes and stubble. He was clutching a bottle of whiskey and staring at the antics of John Ritter and co. on the television.

"Okay, we're done. David, let's go to my room," Jack was suddenly in a hurry.

They made their way into a room branching off of the living room. Jack's room was…different. There was a chalk drawing of David Bowie on the far wall and posters from movies David had never even heard of. The walls were painted a bright red and the wall above his bed bore an enormous corkboard covered in pictures of him and his friends. David looked at their faces: screaming on roller coasters, jumping around a yard dressed in medieval garb (Spot, for some reason, was wearing a tutu with one of those cone-shaped princess hats and looking petulant), and dressed up as gun-toting cowboys. There were more recent pictures as well. A photobooth picture of them all crammed in there, smiling. Pictures of them at Disneyland and school pictures and just a bunch of those black and white pictures where they all looked strangely attractive (black and white tended to do that to people). There was even a picture of them all with Santa. Jack was giving him bunny ears, Snitch was practically lying across his lap—Snitch _was_ the former tattler, right?—Race and Spot balanced on the arms of the chair. Blink and Mush and Skittery just smiling like they had nothing better to do. David looked at the pictures and couldn't help but think that if Jack had never hit him over the head with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, _he_ could have been in all of those pictures.

"Done staring?" Jack queried. "Can we get to work? I'm due at my friend's house in about two hours."

Anyone else, using that tone, would've sounded like an ass. From Jack, though, it sounded almost…endearing.

David turned away from the corkboard and forced a smile but inwardly he was reeling. He hated these boys, didn't he? Satan Jack Kelly who could have given him brain damage as a young lad and his psycho friends? Wasn't he supposed to hate them, to avoid them at all costs? And now he was _in the house of one of them_.

What was wrong with him? Had he gone completely mental?

"So this guy, John Paul Jones," Jack interrupted him. "His crew was entirely these pirate-like guys. That's pretty cool, huh?"

He nodded. "Oh, yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

"You know," Mush said thoughtfully, pulling the tray of fresh-baked cookies—courtesy of a tube—out of the oven. "We always stick together."

Spot spun once around in one of the tall bar chairs at the counter surrounding the perimeter of the Meyers's kitchen.

"Point being?" he cocked a brow.

Mush set to putting the cookies on a cooling rack as Marie Antoinette, his cat, came over to inspect the peanut butter smell.

"Meaning, we're always there for each other," he stated. "Like, when Jack came out yesterday, it got me thinking. Nothing can break us up. It's like those girls in those books about the pants. We've never been apart. Jack didn't desert us to be popular when he came back from summer camp all Hottie McHothot and we didn't desert you when you were Tinkerbell."

Spot cast him a withering look. Mush was referring to a time when Spot had been very young and had taken iridescent gauze and wire to form fairy wings. He glued them to the back of his Spiderman t-shirt and often got beaten up because of it. The others had often taken up for him when the more Neanderthal grammar school students would pick on him.

"And when Snitch catches crap about his name. And Blink for his patch. And—"

Spot held up a hand. "I get it. Now spare me…and pass me a cookie."

"They need to cool," Mush bent down to pick up Marie Antoinette and Spot hit his mental pause button.

The way the angled, late afternoon sun, dappled by the rain, came streaming through the window and the slats of the blinds…it made Mush look angelic. The light reflected off of his perfectly proportioned face and made his eyes shine. Why had he never noticed it? Actually, the better question was why was he noticing it _now_?

Spot shook his head and pulled a free-floating cigarette out of his back pocket. It was partially squished from him sitting on it all day but it would have to do. He put it in his mouth and leaned over the biscotti-scented Yankee candle burning on the counter to light it.

Spot often forgot that it was nearly impossible to get away with smoking in Mush's house. Because Mush hid his own cigarette use behind fake sinus allergies and colds, his mother was ultra paranoid about it. Sure enough, he heard her thumping down the stairs.

"Theodore, you put that thing out right now or I'm telling your parents, child," she snapped matter-of-factly from the landing between the steps.

Begrudgingly, Spot put his cigarette in the sink and rushed cold water after it. Damn. He looked back at Mush who was testing a cookie for hotness.

"Ow!" he squealed. "Damnit!"

"Nicholas!" his mother chastised.

Mush wasn't listening and spat the glob of half-masticated cookie onto the ground. Marie immediately began nibbling at it. Spot watched him jump around the kitchen, flicking his tongue in pain and yet making no move for the sink and its healing cold waters. Of course, not the tap water. There was the whole water-will-have-a-chance-of-giving-you-cancer thing going around. Still, he could see in extreme cases why dashing for the supposed death water (an exaggeration to say the least) would be fine. Such as this.

He found himself nearly convulsing with laughter at his friend's antics while his mother all but dialed 911. Strangely, watching him hop around in some variation of an Irish jig…he was getting turned on. Very weird.

--

--

"So fucking Larkson has designs for me," Blink announced. "She was totally fucking checking me out during my detention."

Race and Jack nodded noncommittally at their friend's latest proclamation.

"And when I fucking went up to return my fucking Bart Simpson-esque sentences, she grabbed my ass!"

Race shot up and gave him a skeptical look. "She grabbed your ass?"

"Okay, she fucking brushed her hand against it. Big fucking difference."

"Mary Kay Letourneau," Jack stated from his spot near the television.

"Mrs. Robinson," Race added.

"Uh…that one chick from _Class_ who boned Andrew McCarthy."

"Stacey's mom."

Jack shook his head. "Stacey's mom didn't really have designs for him though. He was just fabricating something."

Race gave a little golf clap towards his friend. "Fabrication. Big word, Jack."

Jack shoved him before wiping his now dampened hand on the side of his jeans. Blink had changed but Race, being several sizes smaller—not to mention the fact that the cuffs would hang well below his feet—was stuck in his freezing clothes until he decided to change into his pajamas. Keeping true to tradition of never changing at different times, he was stuck freezing.

"There's a party in the Manor tomorrow night," Jack said, switching the input from Blink's TV to DVD so they could put in the movies.

"There's _always_ a party in the Manor," Race rolled his eyes. "And they almost always get broken up."

Jack just smiled conspiratorially and switched the audio on Blink's fancy, state-of-the-art player. His family had inherited a rather large sum of money a few years ago and had since been spending it on stupid "toys" for the house since they knew that to move Blink would prove catastrophic.

"Man, must we watch violent movies?" Race queried.

"Fuck yeah!" Blink proclaimed.

It was predetermined that they each had to watch their favorite movies at their house at every stay night. In their case, it would be _American Psycho _(Blink), _Urban Cowboy _(Jack), and _Rocky _(Race).

"That's how the cookie crumbles," Jack stated. "Although I never really understood that saying."

"Which one are we watching first?"

They stared at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Jack leapt to his feet and threw the movies down before closing his eyes and spinning around.

"Jack, what the fuck are you doing?"

"This is more fun," he said cryptically, coming to a halt.

Groping blindly for the ground, he fell to his knees and started crawling forward. Race looked at Blink with a look of suppressed laughter. The blonde shot him the same look. Jack kept crawling until he bumped into a chair and, in his dizzy state, fell over and subsequently landing on top of one of the movies.

"Ow," he moaned, opening his eyes. "Which one did I land on?"

Blink wedged his hand shamelessly under Jack's ass to pull out the DVD box. Race felt a pang of jealousy. Maybe then, if he had understood the jealousy that shot up through his spine as Blink groped under Jack's perky, perfect butt to grab the movie, maybe things would have been different.

"Ha!" Blink cried triumphantly, pulling the offending movie out from under Jack's denim-clad backside. "My fucking movie, bitches!"

He waved _American Psycho_ tauntingly in front of their faces grinning like a little kid who just got a high score on a video game or something.

"Shut up, Blink," Jack shook his head to rid himself of dizziness. "Which movie should we watch second?"

He went to stand up to retry his method but Race shot out and wrapped his still damp arms around his ankles.

"No!"

--

Snitch sniffed Skittery's shoulder. "You smell like basil. It's good."

He shoved him away and went back to sulking. Skittery's father owned the only restaurant in their neighborhood and graciously gave his only son a job. However, this did not mean any special privileges and was often called in at random days to work no matter what. Today was one of those days, and he was none too pleased.

"Shut up," he grumped and crossed his arms over his chest.

Snitch let out a labored sigh. Knowing Skittery, he was going to be in a bad mood all night. Great, there went any fun for the night.

"Hey!" he tried to cheer him up. "Do you know what we have here? That you left last time and nearly had a coronary over?"

He elbowed Skittery to tempt him to answer. The corner of his mouth twitched a little, knowing to what Snitch was implying.

"What's that I see?" he cooed. "A smile? Gracing the features of Lindsey Newcomb's face? An actual smile?"

Skittery set his mouth into a scowl again. "No."

"Come on," he elbowed him again. You know what's here and how it makes you _happy_."

Once again, the corner of his mouth twitched and almost curled up a little. Snitch knew that victory was in clear sight but he needed to seal the deal. And what better to seal the deal than with Aqua?

"I've got a feeling you could use a little smile," he sang loudly, "hoping it will stay there for just a little while!"

Skittery's smile widened a little but his arms were still crossed tightly over his chest. Snitch broke away from him and reached into the cubby next to the little thirteen-inch television in his room to produce what Skittery had left there.

"_Shwing_!" Snitch made a sword-drawing noise and held it up like it was the Holy Grail. "You left season seven here. And I _know_ you want to watch it."

Skittery's smiled disappeared. "You ass…I didn't leave that here. I left the movie here. You _stole_ that, didn't you?"

"Stole, left, same difference," he replied flippantly. "What matters is that it's here so…Skits?"

His friend was starting to look rather angry. His face was turning pink.

"I…you…I…" he sputtered. "I was _looking_ for that for, like, a month! Give it back!"

He held his hand out, palm up, as though expecting Snitch to place it there.

"No," he pulled it to his chest.

Skittery stood up, keeping his hand out. "I said, 'give it back.'"

Snitch scuttled back a little. "No."

"What are you, seven?" Skittery followed that by stomping his foot and pouting a little. "Give it!"

He stuffed the DVD boxed set down his pants and stuck his tongue out. "Try getting it back now."

"Snitch," he was offended. "Give it back. That's so gross. You're so gross. You…I _paid_ for that you freaky little monkey!"

Snitch was still laughing and didn't notice when Skittery launched himself at him, tackling him to the ground. He had forgotten where he had hidden the "sacred _Buffy _discs" and screamed when Skittery's hands went for his crotch.

"Stop molesting me you sicko!" he shrieked.

He thrashed his legs a little and threw his head back. Despite the fact that he had bathed with Skittery and had seen him naked on numerous occasions, the fact that his hands were so close to his nether regions made him feel all…squicky.

"You are so gross," he snapped at him. "Grabbing my crotch."

"My DVD was there. You left me no choice, tree-hugger," Skittery retorted, using the term that was most often hurled at Snitch at school.

"Don't call me a tree-hugger. I care about the environment. We as humans are carelessly destroying what has been here for millions of years, not to mention thousands of animal species that have been here longer than us and are going to be here long after we…" Snitch stopped his ramble halfway when he realized that Skittery had yet to move.

His body was pressed up against every inch of his and he found himself staring into his clear, brown eyes. His heart quickened when he mentally noted that their mouths were close enough that if he pushed his lips out, even a little, they would kiss. That, for some reason, made his heart start to hammer.

"Don't you ever shut up?" Skittery demanded but his voice was low, like he was chastising a barking puppy that he had backed into a corner.

"Not sure," Snitch answered truthfully, wondering why his voice had suddenly dropped a couple of registers.

It was at that point that they both realized that they were boys and were lying on top of each other in what could easily be read as a compromising position. Skittery jumped to his feet and inspected the DVD for any damage. Snitch lay there, dazed and not entirely sure of what just happened.

"I…" Skittery dropped it into his backpack. "I should go. Um, to Mush's. He and Spot are probably lonely."

Snitch felt himself nodding or, rather, his head moving in some bobble-headed variation of nodding. His body was tingling all over. Finally, just as Skittery was leaving his room, he found his voice.

"You're a sicko," he said. "And I thought Jack was the only one."

He turned at the door. "What?"

Shakily, he rose to his feet.

"You heard me. Coming at me, _molesting_ me, almost, almost…" he lost steam and let out a stream of air through his lips.

"You're a moron," Skittery said almost coldly. "I'm not gay and I didn't molest you. Get your mind out of the gutter, Jokinen."

Snitch opened his mouth for a comeback but paused. Skittery never addressed him with his last time. He must've been peeved big time. Not that he was going to let that stop him.

"Get out, _Lindsey_," he leaned against his dresser. "You big molester!"

"You're such an idiot," he snapped. "I'm not gay. You're overreacting."

"_I am not!_"

Skittery turned and left. Snitch slammed the door behind him, causing the action figures that still were on his shelves to teeter and collapse on the wood. No way could he stay home. God, what was Skittery's problem? No…_his_ problem. There had been nothing wrong with that. Skits just wanted his precious season seven back. No big deal. Why did he have to go psycho insane _Mommy Dearest_ on him and beat him for his proverbial wire hangers?

There had been nothing intimate about that little episode. Why had he overreacted? Why did his mouth rule everything he said? Snitch stuck his thumb into his mouth and suckled it a little, a habit he had had as a child and had never quite kicked. He needed to do something. He cast a look at his alarm clock. Two. Shit. Skittery had worked later than he had thought. Of course, the jerk had to close with his dad that night. Great.

The chances that the others were up was high, right? Right. He stuffed his feet back into his sneakers and set off to Blink's house.

--

Mush rolled over on his bed, snoring softly. Spot, though, was wide awake. He suffered from chronic insomnia after mainlining his caffeine addiction into espresso shots. Although he had never been a good or sound sleeper. Every little noise caused him to jump up out of bed. That was why he had the wings when he was little. Thinking back, he felt like an idiot but they had given him a sense of comfort and all that jazz that only six people would ever know about.

He turned his gaze to Mush, wondering how he could zonk out at such an early time. He pulled his arm up, allowing his Rainbow Brite (a gag gift from Blink) to ride up and show his stomach. Spot turned his gaze away and pretended to go through songs in his head. It helped lull him to sleep when his insomnia got extremely bad.

He stole a glance back at Mush who was mumbling in his sleep about cabbage. He wondered what the fuck kind of dream he was having.

That was when Spot heard someone slide a key into the lock and the back door open. He knew which door because the kitchen was directly under them.

"Mush," he stood to wake his friend. "Someone's here."

He stuck his hand out to shake him but let his hover an inch over his exposed stomach, feeling the sweet warm radiated from it. How did Mush say so warm? Spot was always freezing. Lucky bastard.

He shook him. Mush shot up like a mouse trap and cracked right into Spot's head.

"Ow, you asshole!" he snapped, rubbing his head where they had collided.

"What is it?" Mush rubbed his eyes sleepily. "That you have to wake me up and then call me an asshole over."

"Someone's here," he repeated. "They just came in."

He saw his friend's eyes widen in the gloom. "Think it's an insane axe murderer?"

Spot rolled his eyes. "Yes, because Jason Voorhees uses a key to get into a house."

"Shut up," Mush shoved him just as the door opened.

Much to their dual surprise, Skittery leaned in the doorway looking more than a little miffed.

"Snitch is an asshole," he said simply. "So I'm staying here."

No sooner had the words left his mouth when they heard the sound of a key being put back into the lock and someone stepping in.

"Jason's back," Mush said simply. "And I think this time he brought Freddy."

There was a massive amount of shuffling denoting more than one person. Sure enough, when Mush's door opened again, everyone else stood there. Snitch's eyes were wild and crazed while everyone else just looked sleepy. Spot idly wondered how Jack's Howdy Doody pajamas pants he wore—and nothing else, the slut—didn't give him nightmares.

"What's going with you two?" Race yawned. "You woke everyone up."

"We're…" Skittery sighed and leaned against Mush's dresser.

"You fucking dragged us the fuck out of bed to not even fucking tell us what the fuck is going on?" Blink asked irately.

"Louie," Mush's mother could be heard. "You watch your mouth, boy."

"I swear she has fucking curse-senses," he mumbled.

They chuckled.

"So if there's nothing really the matter," Jack said. "Let's all get to bed. Here. We haven't stayed all together in awhile. Aaaand, the party in the manor is tomorrow night."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Mush asked.

"Nothing but we're going," Jack laughed.

"Shut up, Cowboy," Mush threw a pillow at him, which Jack caught only to be pelted with another one.

"Ow!" he snapped.

"John Francis Kelly, boy, I can hear you all the way in here!"

They burst into laughter and those standing collapsed on the floor. Even Skittery and Snitch who, in Spot's opinion, looked a little uncomfortable joined in.

"Good night, Blink," Race yawned.

"Good night, Mush," Blink snuggled into the carpet.

"'Night, Spot," Mush curled into his blankets.

"'Night, Jack," Spot murmured.

"Good night, John-boy!" Jack exclaimed which got them all laughing again.

"Shut the fuck up and go to fucking bed," Blink muttered.

And that was that.

--

**A/N: **Beh, short chapter, but I needed to show the 'awww' factor of their friendship and set up the different pairings for the future. Other than that, I'm happy with the content of this one. Tell me what you think…and don't be afraid to suggest anything.


	4. Chapter 4

"Jack, you're a slut," Spot said simply.

"No I'm not and stop saying that," he retorted. "You've been calling me a slut all day."

"That's because you are one. Slut."

"How mature," Jack rolled his eyes and reclined on the grass with his red plastic cup, keeping it upright so it didn't tip over. "What gives? You've been on edge since last night…more than usual."

Spot rushed his fingers through his hair and sighed. They had arrived at the party a mere twenty minutes ago and already he was sick of it. Spot didn't do parties well. There were too many people around who used to beat him up. He tended to shy away from drunken idiots who would yell 'Hey, it's Tinkerbell!' and then maul him.

"And, plus," he said. "I don't see what the big problem is."

"You showed up to Mush's house shirtless last night," Spot reminded him.

Jack sat up and eyed him over his beer, one eyebrow cocked.

"That's because Snitch showed up, had fifty heart attacks, and literally dragged us all there. Besides, it's not like I was trying to, like, seduce Mush," he screwed his face up. "He's like my brother."

Spot shrugged. "Who said anything about Mush?"

He just smirked in that knowing way of his before draining his cup and rising to his feet.

"I'm off to get tossed," he blew a kiss at Spot. "Have fun."

"Fag!" he shouted after him.

Jack flipped him the finger good-naturedly and Spot went back to sitting alone on the grass. He looked around the crush of St. Cloud youth, looking for his friends. Not surprisingly, he didn't see any of them. Skittery muttered something about Elizabeth Gordon (who Snitch called Lizzie Borden) and a pitcher of grapefruit margaritas and had hadn't been seen since. He had been acting weird all day since the whole unmentioned thing with Snitch. Spot was beginning to believe that they had had sex and were freaking out.

He nearly chortled out loud to that one. Speaking of Snitch, he spotted him lurching drunkenly towards him. Knowing Snitch, it was probably only his second or third—pushing it—since he wasn't very good at holding his alcohol.

"Skits is off losing it to Lizzie Borden," he crowed. "Lizzie Borden took an axe, gave poor Skits forty whacks!"

He dissolved into laughter that Spot couldn't simply chalk up to drunken stupidity.

"What happened between you two?" he decided to broach, raising his brows.

But Snitch obviously didn't hear him—or wasn't too drunk to ignore him—and just stumbled off. Spot settled back on the ground and laid back, staring up at the sky.

The stars were twinkling up there like they hadn't a care in the world. Or maybe it was swamp gas or something that made them glow extra bright.

"Whatcha doin'?" a form blotted out the swamp stars and Spot found himself staring up into Mush's face.

He sat up and stretched. "Bored. I hate parties."

Mush nodded and let his head fall platonically onto his shoulder. A shiver went up Spot's spine. One he couldn't make sense of. He and Mush and everyone else had always done this, this friendship stuff that was usually only seen in bad John Hughes movies between the poorly dressed heroine and the poorly dressed best friend who was secretly in love with her. Why did it make him feel so squicky _now_?

--

Skittery stumbled out onto the patio, wanting to commit homicide for a cigarette. His encounter with Liz had been less than spectacular. For one, he kept laughing…and then he threw up on the over the side of the bed. Needless to say, she was turned off. He just…he shook his head. Stepping out past the pool, he noticed a very familiar pair of legs sticking out of the hot tub. Apparently, Jack had had too much to drink and was now doing handstands in the hot tubs…leaving no part of his naked body up to _anyone's_ imagination.

Skittery felt his body tighten and looked down. Oh, God. Was he getting _aroused_? First the thing with Snitch and now this? What the hell was wrong with him?

"Skits!" Snitch cried, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Just the douche I wanted to see. I'm really sorry, man. Really…really sorry. But I love you! I love you! You're like…Skits!"

He vaguely wondered if the beer in Snitch's hand wasn't laced with anything or if he had had anything else other than booze that night. This suspicion deepened when Snitch planted a big wet one on his cheek.

"I love you!" he squealed, sounding not unlike a fourth grade girl.

Skittery shoved him away, spine stiffening. He needed fresh air and a cigarette. Although, one didn't exactly lead to the other but his mind was really too frazzled to work it out. He wanted out of there now.

He neared Jack who was still doing handstands in the tub and rolled his eyes. Yes, he had been planning to get naked himself that night but not publicly. And he _definitely_ wasn't going to do any fucking handstands. He grabbed Jack's ankle and shook it.

"What the fuck?" he sputtered, coming up splashingly.

The girls in the tub with him—whom he was paying no mind to—let out giggles and jokingly held their hands in front of their faces to block the water.

"Can we go now?" Skittery asked impatiently.

Jack cocked a brow and leaned his sopping body against the edge of the tub. The singular motion of him doing that, all naked and soaked and such, made Skittery's heart start to race just as it had with Snitch on the floor last night.

"We've only been here an hour," he complained.

"And you're already wasted," Skittery retorted. "Let's _go_."

"Didn't find your Slayer?" Jack joked, pulling himself from the water shamelessly.

He had to lower his head. "No…"

He watched Jack slip into his clothes and boots, the shirt clinging wet and obscenely to his body.

"Fine," he threw an arm around Skittery and used his free hand to rub under his nose. "Gather the others. We're going home!"

He turned the last sentence into a wailing version of 'Homeward Bound' in a very off-key voice. The hot tub girls giggled.

"Bye, Jack!" they chorused.

"Girls love a gay boy!" he exclaimed, skipping ahead of Skittery, which was a funny sight in his combat boots.

"Jack, I think they think you're straight," Skittery rubbed his temples.

"Bully for them then," Jack laughed, using a British accent he didn't normally have.

He rolled his eyes.

"I'm driving your car," he stated, wedging a hand under Jack's arm to keep him upright. The not-so-sexual encounter had sobered him up but good.

"There's Spot and Mush!"

He followed the line of vision from Jack's pointed finger, which was only slightly to the left of where Spot and Mush actually were.

"We're bored," Mush stated when they neared them. "The clubs in Orlando are open until two. And it's eleven."

Skittery cocked a brow. Mush wasn't usually one to jump and yell to go to clubs or do anything remotely nefarious.

"What?" he read the look. "I'm sober, your honor. I'm just bored and…I wanna go!"

He widened his eyes a little and nudged Spot who did the same, albeit begrudgingly. Skittery had to look away. The combined power of their big-eyed stares was impossible to deny. There was no weapon forged by man that could combat it. Hephaestus himself would have to forge a special shield just to block the sheer puppy-dog quality of their look…even if Spot _did_ look like he was going to rip out Skittery's throat ala _Roadhouse _if he didn't agree to go to a club.

"Fine," he relented.

Mush jumped up and threw his arms around his neck. For the third time in not even two days, a chill went up Skittery's spine in a way that he didn't like at all.

"Thanks, Skits!" he exclaimed.

"We just need to find Race, Blink, and Snitch," Spot stated rather bluntly.

"We're here."

They turned to see Race moving towards them with a not so stable Blink hanging off of him.

"I have a fucking _audition _for the fucking _musical_ Monday!" Blink burst into wild laughter. "I think I'm _still_ gonna be fucking wasted!"

He dissolved into laughter and collapsed against Race who staggered under the additional weight.

"And I," he cast a glare at Blink, "stayed sober to make sure he didn't do something crazy like strip off his clothes and jump in the hot tub…"

He gave Jack a once-over from his sopping hair to his droplet-covered boots.

"Although I see someone beat him to it."

"We're going clubbing!" Jack proclaimed. "It was Mushy's idea!"

Skittery rubbed his ears. Jack tended to yell when he got drunk. Race looked impressed.

"Really?" the look changed to a frown. "I don't like clubs. People tend to bump into me…a lot."

"Me neither," Mush shrugged. "But I'm bored and besides, it's a new experience for me since, hello, my super fearful mother would have seventeen heart attacks if her poor baby stepped into a club. Aaaand…I want to try out the new fake IDs Jack got us."

"You got us fake IDs?" Spot cocked a brow at Jack.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "They're in my car!"

Race rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine. Let's gather Snitch and vamoose."

--

Spot wasn't a fan of clubs. Hypothetically speaking of course. He had never actually set foot in one until tonight so he couldn't really pass judgment. However, from what he had seen on television, it wasn't his scene. Scantily-clad girls and sweaty boys. Fun-fun.

"Where'd Mush go?" Race leaned over the balcony in which they were seated at one of the many tables on it.

The balcony overlooked the incredibly large dance floor that was a sea of people dancing wildly to some annoying club music.

"What do you mean?" Skittery asked.

They were the only three remaining sober. Jack, Snitch and Blink had decided that they weren't inebriated enough and decided to use the aforementioned fake IDs—which made them all, apparently, twenty-two when none of them except maybe Jack could pass for more than nineteen at best—to obtain more booze.

"I mean that he was here one minute and gone the next," Race stated coolly. "Hence the question, 'where'd he go?'"

Spot went to shrug but noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Off from their table was Mush. He was leaning alone against the banister keeping someone from taking a ten foot dive onto the dance floor and his foot was tapping to the beat of the pulsing house music. He wanted to go to him on the grounds that he looked really lonely. The strange feelings and John-Hughes-shivers he had been feeling earlier that night had nothing to do with it.

The music changed so some trumpet-heavy thing that Spot knew all too well was the intro to that annoyingly catchy song 'Hips Don't Lie' by Shakira. He had been forced to listen to it many a time in English class when the teacher allowed the students to play some of their own music while they worked. One girl, who actually _was _from Columbia, put that CD in and the song on repeat. It had grated Spot's mind to no end and complained about it but no one listened to Tinkerbell.

Much to his surprise, Mush's tapping increased as the lyrics began. His legs gave a tremor before Spot noticed his hips shaking from side to side. Mush was…dancing? As the lyrics went on, he got into it. It was like everyone else disappeared and all Spot saw was Mush locked in his own private groove. His body moved like liquid to the music. Spot blinked his eyes as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Spot watched as the boy he had known for his entire life—except for those bleak moments in which he recalled nothing but tastes and vague shapes—became someone else. He wasn't the prone-to-sleeping, son of the hyper-sensitive woman who owned a kickass car. He was…well, kind of dancing like a girl so the word 'vixen' could be the only way to describe him.

"Wow," Race remarked, his voice grounding Spot if only momentarily. "Look at him go."

Watching him dance, Spot felt himself stand and go near him.

"Hey, Spot!" Mush called jovially. "What's up?"

"I never knew that you could dance like this," he admitted.

He giggled and continued his dancing, making Spot feel something that he knew from health class and countless masses at St. Thomas's to be wrong.

"Does it make you want to speak Spanish?" he asked coyly.

Spot smirked at him. "Nicely done, Meyers."

He tugged on his arm. "Dance with me, Spot."

He let a horrified look slam onto his face. "No."

"Come on," Mush chided, pulling him towards his body.

Spot felt his body want to press up against every inch of him, feel his heart beat in time with his…and he didn't understand it. Yes, he knew all about being gay or homosexual as the PC folks called it but he never once thought—even when remembering his Tinkerbell days—that he would _be_ one. Now, there he was, getting all hot and bothered around one of his best friends.

Mush finally pulled him towards him, Spot admittedly letting himself be pulled and felt his hands on his waist.

"What are you doing?" he asked, mortified.

"Lighten up," he laughed. "We're dancing and it's not even the _lambada_. Besides, we need to be in sync. Watch me."

He moved his hips side to side and motioned for Spot to do the same. He felt ridiculous but did it anyway.

"Loosen up, you're all uptight," he whispered into his ear, a laugh chasing his words.

"Well," Spot managed to retort. "I'm all up against another guy. You expect me not to be uptight?"

There must've been something in his tone because Mush replied by, ugh, singing part of the song although not without tweaking the words.

"Ooh, Spotty when you talk like that, you make Nicholas go mad," he sang with a laugh, changing how his name was pronounced so it would fit the beat. "So—"

"Spare me," he found himself laughing.

"Then dance right," he countered.

Rolling his eyes, he let Mush lead him in the dance. He turned him around so his back was pressed up against his firm chest.

"Let your butt swing," he laughed. "Like a _chavala_."

Spot turned his head so he could almost get a glimpse of his face. "A _what_?"

"I dunno. Vanessa Castillo told me it. Ooh, or _puta_. Swing your butt like a _puta_ or _puto_ as the case may be."

"And what is that?"

"Whore," Mush explained before putting his hands on his shoulders and shaking him slightly. "Now dance like one!"

--

David was awoken Sunday morning by someone pounding on his door. Not wanting to wake anyone else, he all but slid out of bed and slogged down the stairs to the front door. Much to his surprise, Jack stood on the porch, looking tired and grumpy.

"Jack?" he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

He yawned. "I have a bitch of a hangover."

That didn't answer David's question and really just posed another one. One that he didn't care enough about Jack to ask.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"Oh, to work on our project," he laughed. "I know I should be in bed, moaning about never drinking again but I totally got a surge of inspiration during my escapades last night."

David noted that he was clutching a can of Diet Coke for dear life so he knew that his suddenly happy mood didn't dampen the apparent hangover.

"You can't come in," he blurted. "I mean…my family's asleep."

He shrugged. "Fine by me. Let's head over to my place. I don't think my dad ever sleeps."

There was a catch on the edge of his voice that David didn't know that he really heard or not.

"I have to get changed," he felt suddenly very lame for wearing the Harry Potter pajamas Les had gotten him for Chanukah.

"No time, Dave," he yanked on his arm. "I don't want to pass out from the pain."

He took a long sip from his Diet Coke and started down the walk. David realized he had no choice but to follow him—bare feet and pajamas and all—or else Jack would most likely wake his entire family with the knocking. He trudged after him down the street and past the four houses to Jack's house, which all suddenly seemed impossibly wider and Jack's house an epic distance away.

"How come you always wear long sleeves?" Jack asked randomly, taking another pull from his Coke.

"What?" he tugged on the cuffs of his pajama shirt.

"Long sleeves. You're always wearing sweaters and stuff when we live in Florida."

David lowered his head. He didn't want to discuss that. It meant discussing his family and he didn't want to. No one could know. It had to remain secret.

"I—" before he could finish that sentence, Jack reached out with his free hand and yanked his sleeve up. David pulled his arm away but it was too late.

"You're a cutter?" he cocked a brow. "Never would have figured you. Well, maybe. You're always alone."

"I didn't do it for attention," he said quickly.

Jack rolled his eyes. "I figured. You didn't strike me as the type. For one, you actually wear boys' pants and two, you don't dye your hair tar black or inside-of-the-banana yellow."

David laughed softly and it felt good. He hadn't laughed in awhile.

"Why do you do it?"

He wasn't going to tell Jack that. Their friendship—using the term as loosely as possible—didn't extend that far yet. He just lowered his head and kept walking.

"I used to think about it too," Jack said softly, sipping his soda again. "After my mom died. I thought…the depression I guess…I thought it was hereditary. My dad crawled up and I…I don't know. You remember, right? I went through that bad, 80s goth phase? Looked like Robert Smith? Death rock, skulls and crossbones, everything. I just felt…poisonous, toxic. I used to call myself Jackal and hated everyone. Even my friends."

He shrugged but David looked at him.

"You can keep talking," he said quietly. "I mean…"

He smiled. "Yeah, I know. Wouldn't know to look at me. But it's because of my friends. They told me all about these kids who went too far until their lives just stopped making any sense and they blew their brains out. I never was the deep but…it got pretty bad…"

His voice trailed off as if he was stumbling into forbidden memories. They lingered outside of Jack's front door, neither really wanting to go in. David wanted him to go on. The things he was saying…they made sense to him.

"Go on," he urged.

"Kind of anxious about my woes aren't you?" he laughed but it but the laugh sounded forced and fake. "Anyway…everything seemed to blur and blend in my head and I got really paranoid. I thought everyone was out to get me. According to Blink—er—Louie, I got sent home once for talking to myself in homeroom. I don't remember that though. They pulled me out of it. Then I went to camp and I came back all…refreshed I guess would be the word. I grew, matured and all that. Hit puberty too."

He laughed and this time, David was sure it was real.

"I didn't want to hurt myself," he admitted. "I was always too scared to. I never wanted to no matter how bad things got. But one night, I just got so fed up with the sobbing and vomiting and the hating and I just…God, what am I saying?"

He was babbling and letting Jack into his life. He didn't want that. He didn't want him—or anyone for that matter—knowing about his fucked up family.

Jack put a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Dave. Come on, no more talking about the depressing stuff. Now it's all John Paul Jones. I have not yet begun to fight, Dave! Say it with me! I have not yet begun to fight!"

For the second time ever—and twice that morning—Jack made David laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

"Anthony works at the grocery store, saving his pennies for someday!" Blink sang jovially the moment he walked through the automatic doors of the newly built St. Cloud Publix.

Racetrack glowered at him from his station where he was currently bagging a rather irate, toothless old woman's groceries. Ever since he had gotten the job there, one of his friends would constantly come barreling in singing 'Movin' Out'.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, feeling his frosty glower slowly dissolving into a smile.

"Muchly," he waved a libretto in front of Race's face, grinning madly.

"What?" he snatched the fluttering book, much to the woman's chagrin. "_Grease_? That's the musical this year?"

Blink's smile widened and he nodded. "Fuck yeah."

The women gave him a glacial look while Yolanda, the Puerto Rican cashier, just giggled under her breath because the woman had been giving her a hard time while she had been ringing up her items ('make sure your fake nails don't pop off in my celery' etc.).

"Young man," she hissed, hissed because of the large gap where her front teeth should have been.

"One fucking minute." Blink glared at her best he could with one eye over Race's shoulder. "I have to fucking tell my best friend something fucking important. So keep your pants on, bitch…please."

Race had to look at Yolanda to keep from bursting into laughter but even that proved difficult for she too looked to be about to crack up.

"Anyway," another glare at the woman, "I am fucking Kenickie!"

Blink threw up his arm and attacked Race in a hug, apron and all.

"Way to go," he congratulated.

He nodded. "Yeah and I get to fucking keep my patch on or else Larkson would have my mom to fucking deal with and she'd rip her a fucking new one."

Toothless McGee behind them was grumbling again, something about getting the manager but everyone at the surrounding cash registers was paying her no mind. Race figured that it had something to do with her breath in addition to her wonderful manners. He had made the mistake earlier of breathing in when she had been speaking. It had been like licking the inside of a garbage can.

"How come you don't wanna be Danny?" Yolanda joined in the conversation.

She had come to know all of Race's friends due to their frequent visits while he was working.

"Because of fucking 'Stranded at the Drive-In'. That was gotta be one of the fucking suckiest songs from any fucking musical. Right after 'A Boy Like That' from _West Side Story_," he shuddered. "And 'Bless Your Beautiful Hide'."

"So, will I see you up on stage opening night?" she asked.

"Undoubtedly."

Yolanda laughed and smiled at him. Blink smiled back. Race absently double-bagged the woman's milk and looked between the two. Was Yolanda flirting with Blink? And, more importantly, was Blink flirting _back_? He registered how that felt as he loaded the bag into the carriage and continued on. Why did the mere thought of them flirting make his stomach feel as if it were being forced through the crescent moon shape of a Play-Doh Fun Factory?

"Young man," she hissed once more. "Please leave. This one isn't done with my groceries."

"I'm sure your cats can fucking wait," Blink sneered but he turned to go.

Race absently handed him back the libretto before putting the last of the groceries into the carriage.

"Bye, Louie," Yolanda called.

"Bye, Yo," he blew an exaggerated kiss. "Mwah!"

He hadn't said good-bye to Race.

Once again, his stomach went through the factory. As soon as Disgruntled McNoteeth left, Yolanda sighed.

"He's so cute, Antony." she always called him 'Antony' and he never knew why. Of course, it was better than calling him 'Antonio' but still, not his name. "Do you think you could put in a good word for me?"

He felt his back stiffen. "Blink? I mean, Louis? You want to go out with him?"

She threw back her head in laughter. "I thought I made it obvious. I never flirt with guys but Louie is so cute and nice."

Anthony was reeling. There was that Fun Factory feeling again. What was it? Jealousy? Oh, yeah. There was no denying it. Race had serious jones for Blink. So it was cute. He had a crush. It wasn't like he was going to _act on it_ or anything. And, besides, it wasn't like he was gay. Having a crush on a guy and being gay were two totally different things.

He noticed Yolanda looking at him and realized that he had been staring into space for the past minute or so.

"Oh!" he shook his head. "Um, well, Blink's a drama nerd so, yeah, you know what they say…"

She furrowed her brow. "No. What do they say? Is this another American generalization? Because everyone seems to think I'm going to steal their job or something."

Time to lie out his ass—despite Blink's hinting at his sexuality Thursday.

"He's gay."

Her face caved in. "Oh…"

Race felt like shit. Why was he denying this? So he had a crush on Blink. He didn't want to go out with him. Right? Right.

"Yeah," he heard himself say. "Sorry."

--

"All day," Spot fumed. "All day I've been taunted with couples. Once, literally."

Mush cocked a brow from where he lay on the hood of his car.

"Literally?" he laughed. "What, did someone make out on you?"

Spot fixed him with a glare to which Mush fielded with a sunny smile that outshone his glower.

"No. I was walking up building seven to get to fifth period behind this guy and girl holding hands and he was swinging this UF folder and it flew back to far and clocked me in the face. Right between the eyes."

To this, Mush burst out into laughter so explosive, he tumbled from the hood of the car.

"Ha!" Spot barked. "That's what you get!"

"Nicholas, you better not be denting the hood of that car or I'll take it back!"

Mush jumped up and smiled broadly as his stepfather made his way towards him. Spot immediately perked up. Dwayne was quite possibly the coolest adult on the face of the earth. He and Mrs. Meyers had been married for pretty much Mush's entire life but he still insisted that the kids call him Dwayne. He was the former owner of Mush's amazing corvette and had put it to good use in the seventies when he had used to be a pimp.

"Sorry." He shrugged but the grin on his face clearly said otherwise. Of course, Dwayne didn't give two shits if Mush dented it or hosted a full-on orgy on the zebra print seats.

"Theodore, don't you have your own home?" he asked with a laugh, ruffling Spot's hair. Mostly, he hated when adults did this but with Dwayne, he didn't mind.

"To the dogs?" he wrinkled his nose. "My house smells like a kennel."

"That's what you get." Mush slung an arm around his shoulders. "You see, that's why we have a cat. A cat that isn't seven feet tall."

Spot shoved him. "My dogs are _not_ seven feet tall."

Mush just widened his smile.

"You'll get wrinkles like that," he teased.

"And it'll get stuck," Dwayne added gleefully.

"Oh fuck off the two of you." Mush crossed his arms and slapped a pout on his face. Spot nearly melted. Since the dance, he had pretty much figured out that not only was he not _entirely_ straight (putting it mildly) but that he also had serious designs on Mush.

"Watch your fucking mouth," Dwayne joked, patting his curls before heading to go back inside. Halfway up the walk, he turned. "Oh, and when Jack comes over, tell him not to drink all of my beer, okay?"

Once the front door shut, Mush let out a laugh. "I love how he says _when_ Jack comes over and not _if_."

Spot nodded absently but he was finding it hard to watch him laugh when he remembered his hips on his, his strong chest pushing against his back, making his heart hammer so hard it felt like it would snap his ribs.

Before he could stop himself, he reached forward and wrapped a hand around Mush's wrist. The laughter ceased.

"What?" he asked, blinking his eyes down where Spot held him.

He looked back up and said in a much softer voice, "What?"

Spot drew in a little closer. "I don't know."

"Me neither." Mush shook his head a little but didn't back away.

He tilted his head up a little to properly view Mush and sucked in a deep breath.

"I've been thinking about it," he whispered down into his ear. "Since Jack told us."

Spot nodded. "Me too."

"Can…can I kiss you?"

Once again, the rib-breaking heart hammer began as he numbly nodded. _Mush_ was asking? Those John Hughes shivers came back except this time he didn't ignore them. He just cocked his head to the side and leaned forward.

Spot had been kissed a total of twice in his lifetime. Mostly, girls had gone for Jack and Skittery and pretty much ignored the rest of them. Once had been at a game of Spin-the-Bottle in fifth grade and both he and the girl had had braces. The other had been at the school dance in seventh grade but he figured that didn't count because Brandy Mitchell had been so drunk off of the vodka they had later found out she stole from her brother, that she had been kissing everyone—teachers included.

Naturally, none of them measured up to this kiss. Mush put a hand on the back of his neck, where his head was tilted to steady him—having more kissing experience than Spot—and angled his head so they could kiss without discomfort.

He wasn't sure how long they did this until they both realized that they were standing in the middle of a driveway in plain sight and broke apart. Spot was breathless and he looked at Mush who was wiping his lips.

"When can we tell the guys?" he asked brightly, a grin on his face.

He paused and bit his lip. "Maybe we should wait? I mean, we need to figure this entirely out for ourselves and that garbage."

Mush nodded. "Yeah. Plus, it's too soon with Jack. You know?"

He nodded too. "Yeah…so…what now?"

The other boy paused and tapped his lower lip. A grin spread onto his face and Spot felt his heart accelerate unintentionally with anticipation of what was to come.

"I say we figure this out entirely in my room." Mush held his hand out. Spot uttered a laugh and took it before feeling himself be yanked behind him up the walk.

--

Snitch stared at his Phish poster on the wall, scowling. He was not only a complete asshole but a complete spaz as well. He kept getting all jumpy and yelping around Skittery. He couldn't help it. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about that moment on the floor. Everyone had asked, at least once, what his damage had been. He hadn't been able to answer them.

He didn't know why he had to make a big deal about it. Actually, that was a lie. He did, of course, know why he had to make a big deal about it. He had to make a big deal about it because he _liked_ it. He liked the feel of Skittery pressing down on him. He liked the feel of their faces so close. But he wasn't…or maybe he was. He had no idea. It was all Jack's fault. Coming out and putting these ideas into his head.

"Snitch?" His door opened and Skittery walked in. Of course he did. He had a key just like everyone else.

"What do you want?" his voice sounded harsher than he had meant it and Skittery shrank back a little. He sighed tiredly. "I mean…I'm…sorry?"

"Why?"

He straightened. He hadn't anticipated another answer. He just wanted Skittery to accept his apology and then move on.

"Why?"

"Did I stutter?"

He shrugged. "Because I acted like an asshole."

"Putting it mildly." Skittery came and sat next to him on the bed. Snitch fought the urge to crawl away from him and that made him sick. He had been best friends with him his entire life. They had been much closer than this before—like Friday, for example—so why did he need to shrink back?

"Yeah…I deserve that." He shifted a little down the bed. "But…God, I don't know. I have no clue."

"And you think I do?" his voice sounded harsh and it made Snitch's heart ache. "Sorry. I mean, this is weird. I've never…I…"

He gave him a meaningful look. "Since Friday, I've been having these…_feelings_. And not just for you. When Jack was naked in the hot tub. When Mush hugged me. I kept having these urges just to kiss them."

"Wait." Snitch held up his hands. "Jack was naked in the hot tub? How drunk _was_ he?"

Skittery gave him a look that clearly said 'focus Banastre' and continued.

"But it hasn't been as strong as it was when we touched…"

He lowered his head and stared at the carpet. Snitch reached out from pure habit and rubbed his back. He felt Skittery tense beneath his hand. He knew what he meant then.

"I…" could he even say it? "I think I acted like such a douchebag because…I feel the same way too. But just around you. I mean…"

He shrugged and joined Skittery in staring at his eco-friendly synthetic carpet.

"Well…" Skittery glanced up and Snitch followed him. "Maybe…maybe we could feel the same way…together?"

He nibbled his lower lip with his rather large front teeth. "I don't know. Maybe we should work this out first. Work out these feelings. Maybe they'll just go away. Maybe it's a phase."

He shook his head. "Too many maybes, Snitch. But I get you."

Of course he did. Skittery got him. It made his heart skip a beat.

"But if the maybes fall south, we have to promise to talk this over and maybe…"

"…maybe be weird together," Snitch finished.

They gave each other half smiles. Neither was sure if anything had been accomplished but they felt better.

--

David watched Jack out of the corner of his eye. He was bent over their history book, furiously copying down notes. David already knew everything they had to know about John Paul Jones but it was nice to watch Jack. Jack who bared his soul to him. Jack who terrified him because he could feel the wall he had built up around himself begin to crumble.

Jack who he was fairly certain he was in love with.

He hadn't been able to explain it—not even to himself—to his family who just blinked their eyes and went back to caring for their own problems. He was extraneous, the middle child. He was unimportant. They had more pressing problems to worry about rather than the orientation of their eldest son.

Of course, David had never come right out and said 'I'm gay'. The thought made him shudder. It was too scary of a sentence to even mentally utter. He had never done anything with anyone, let alone a guy. He wondered if Jack could be him. The first guy he could…he could what?

He sighed and rushed his fingers through his hair. What was wrong with him?

Jack glanced up at his sudden noise and movement. "What?"

David felt his spine stiffen but he just shrugged and went back to cutting out pictures of John Paul Jones.

"Should I trust you with those?" Jack nodded at the scissors, a smile playing on his flawless features.

David lowered his head but said nothing.

"I'm just joshing," he leaned in ."Promise. You have to joke about these things, Davey. If you don't, you'll just curl up and die. Be another casualty to teen angst."

"Yeah…" he concentrated on the picture in his hands and tried not to look at Jack. He felt a blush tickling his face. Jack had called him 'Davey'. No one had ever called him Davey. Of course, he had never had any friends before to do that.

Friends. A funny word. Was Jack his friend or were they just together on the project? Despite his vast knowledge of all things scholastic, David knew diddly about friendship. It wasn't his own fault. He hadn't had anyone over his house since he was eight and The Great Accident happened. He had been embarrassed and ashamed to let anyone come over, even to play toys or something. This had intensified when the sequel to The Great Accident came last year. By then, David was officially a friendless loser so it didn't matter.

But Jack…was Jack his friend?

"Jack…" he shut his mouth. What was he doing?

"Yeah?" he glanced up, seemingly happy from the break from his textbook.

"Are we…are we friends?" he felt utterly lame for asking it but Jack smiled.

"Yeah, I guess I'd say so. Friends show friends scars."

David found himself smiling back. For awhile, they just smiled at each other. He once again marveled at how gorgeous Jack was. He had a hard time believing he was real. It wasn't that he was classically attractive. His eyes were a bit close together and his nose had a bit of a kink in it but when he smiled like that, he was undeniably beautiful.

That was what David blamed it on later. He blamed that smile. Later still, he pondered on whether or not he had initiated it. He had never been one to take the initiative with anything. So maybe it was Jack and maybe that was what made what happened later so easy to accept.

Either way, their lips brushed together ever so lightly before David yanked his head back and ran.

--

**A/N: **I'm not dead! This chapter, while short, was needed for some cute couple-y ness. I mean, who doesn't love jealous!Race and adorable Spush? Anyway, there's the chapter.


End file.
